


for lack of a better title

by Austere_Cinere



Category: Mother 3
Genre: Flashbacks, Gen, I may add more later, both luc and claus are dealing with memories man, but for now i'm too lazy, lots of weird mental stuff going on, lucas is there sorta, no one else - Freeform, so here have some badly written claus with inadequacy issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-24
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-09-26 16:40:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9911690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Austere_Cinere/pseuds/Austere_Cinere
Summary: Lucas becomes a hero. So where does that leave Claus?[au: Claus survives]In which the world has been rewritten, and the twins are still burdened with memories. In which Claus has to share his headspace with his alter ego.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Man, please don't shoot me for this garbage. I just have a lot of soft feelings toward Claus, a'ight?

For all the Dragon’s power, some things could not be changed. It was a source of great bitterness to Claus that even now, a world reset later, the masked man continued to shadow him. For his part, the commander was mildly curious as to why he was so _fragile_ now, so _helpless_ , all flesh and bone, ephemeral.

            The two often clashed at first – Claus lashing out in anger, the commander with no feeling at all. And then they would both back down because they shared a body and the migraines were unbearable, or because at that point Lucas looked over and Claus had to force a grin to his mouth.

            The commander never fought this. The commander understood.

            _And at least there was that, huh?_ The stoic boy didn’t understand most things. And there was another change Claus had yet to adjust to – having to explain, day in and day out. Not the ideal job for an impulsive boy like Claus.

            Now, the commander had a voice in Claus’s head that was _like_ his own, but entirely different. Softer, more formal. Empty.

            it was a shock to hear, especially the first time Claus opened his eyes as himself in a long time, only to find that no, he was still not entirely himself.

* * *

 

 _Why does he not attack?_ The commander had whispered that first day.

(Claus still remembered the jolt – even now, the other boy remained). His voice had been hesitant, as if deigning to ask were a breach in protocol, and he had stared out at Lucas through Claus’s eyes warily.

 _Because he’s my twin, dummy_ , were Claus’s first sharp words to the masked man (though he snapped more out of surprise than anything else). _And anyway, Lucas can’t even hurt a fly._

 _But I attacked him,_ reasoned the commander quietly. _The logical course of action would be to strike me down now, while I am limited by this weak body._

That had struck a nerve with Claus – that word had been what he had been working away from his whole _life._ And in that cramped, dark space of his mind, he rounded on the pale soldier who’d stolen his face.

 _Weak?_ He challenged, spitting the word out derisively. _I’ll show you_ weak _._

the next moment-hour-eternity was a blur of the mental scuffle between hot-blooded twin and cold half-machine, then the resulting agony jolting through his head, then Lucas, almost-panicking Lucas with no idea of the war in his brother’s mind – “Claus, what’s wrong? Claus!” – And Claus, insisting that he wasn’t crying as tears welled in his eyes.

That had been the last metaphysical brawl between the two. But the questions on the masked man’s part persisted once he realized that there would be no real repercussions for asking. Sometimes it was all Claus could do not to let his emotion best him.

And all the while the commander sought to learn, to find answers he’d been denied his entire existence, and the two formed an unspoken, uneasy truce, each completely unable to relate to the other.

 

* * *

 

 

 _This woman, in this picture_ , his unwanted mental guest mused. His tone rose ever so slightly, the way it did when he was about to end a sentence with a question mark. Claus who’d been rummaging around the drawers for the yo-yo he knew he used to have, well, _before,_ stiffened at the mention of the picture.

 _I have never met her before_ , the commander said, _but… why does she seem so familiar?_

Teasingly call Lucas a crybaby he may have, but Claus himself was still not over his mother’s death, still hadn’t built that emotional wall to make it hurt any less. And it did, it hurt – an aching stab slicing into his gut.

He caught his breath, hands stilling – _of course_ the masked man would ask eventually. Of _course._

Despite himself he glanced at the photo, and almost immediately regretted it. The sight of his mother holding their family together, smiling, happy, _alive_ , tore at him, tore at him –

_Tore at him like the chimera’s teeth as it ripped Hinawa apart and he screamed and he screamed himself raw –_

_Grabbed the knife, consumed by a rage he’d never felt before. The beast had stolen his mother away and he was going to make it_ s u f f e r _–_

_“Claus, what are you doing out here? Where are you going?”_

_“Nowhere, Lucas, go back inside.”_

_“But your food is going to get cold soon if you don’t come eat it now, and – is… is that a knife? Claus… Claus, why do you have that? It’s not yours, you know that.”_

_“Go back_ inside _, Lucas. It’s none of your business, so stay out of it, okay?”_

_“But, Claus, you shouldn’t – what are you even…”_

_Hurt flashing in wide baby blue. Confusion. Desperation._

_Realization._

_“Claus, you – you can’t – dad’s gonna be_ really _mad when he finds out!”_

_“He’ll only find out if you tell him. And you’re not going to do that. I know you, Lucas.”_

_A challenging glint sparking in his eyes; panic and tears welling in his twin’s._

That expression on Lucas’s face, his little brother. The last thing Claus saw of him before the _teeth_

_Swinging screaming tears_

_You killed my mom, you killed my mom! agonyagony his arm is gone there’s so much bl ood he’s fallingfallingfallingfallingf a l l i n g_

 

_Claus._

He couldn’t feel the ground beneath him.

He couldn’t. He couldn’t, he –

 

_Claus!_

In the soothing black of his head, he opened his mind’s eye and saw himself. Only not him. Pale. Stoic. Half-metal. Still him. Not him.

The masked man.

Claus inhaled a shuddering breath, and for one moment, two moments, he allowed himself to lean on the other’s consciousness.

The commander said nothing, just provided a sense of balance. A frown tugged his mouth downward ever so slightly. The woman in the picture, she had caused Claus pain. Why was there a reminder of her in the house if she was a cause of pain?

He voiced his query, softer than usual, and Claus’s body tensed up.

A sign of distress? It made very little sense, and even less when the original ginger boy laughed a bit madly afterwards.

 _She’s my_ , Claus began, and choked.

 _She’s mom. She’s…_ our _… mom._

The commander stopped breathing for a moment.

He could not figure out why, why the simple statement had his throat constricting. He paused for a long while, and reached out for another answer to fill the clueless void the vague answer had opened up.

_Where… is our mom?_

Claus’s eyes began burning with unshed tears in response, enough that the commander winced, and for a second he felt that everything they were was coming undone.

 _She’s gone. Don’t you know that?_ Claus snapped. But the words lacked any sting, instead hanging heavy with exhaustion. _She’s dead. She died. I saw her die._

Through the haze of memory and grief, Claus finally realized that he’d been standing there at the dresser with his hands fisted and his eyes fixed blankly on the family photo.

It took another few seconds to realize that Lucas had been standing in the doorway, watching in silence and concern.

“Claus?”

The timidity had gone from his younger brother’s voice, he noted. He was left a soft-spoken and cautious young man, a far cry from the shy little boy Claus was familiar with. Lucas was… Lucas had outgrown him, it seemed.

And it hurt.

It hurt.

“Claus? Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Claus managed to get out before bursting into harsh, ugly sobs.

 

* * *

 

 

The commander was one for obeying orders at the drop of a hat. He was intelligent and he knew it. He could make scores of calculations in a split second. He had no hope understanding complex human psychology, though.

He sat quietly in the back of Claus’s mind as the dominant personality tossed a ball to Lucas and caught it in return. Catch, he believed it was called. Straightforward.

This was one of the times Claus seemed to be at ease with the blond boy. The commander himself had nothing against Lucas, but he had noted the hesitance every time Claus interacted with him. His attachment to his twin brother was clear, and the commander knew that Claus would fight to his last breath for Lucas’s sake. But as he grew familiar with human sentiment and Claus’s emotions, he became familiar with Claus’s sense of inadequacy when in Lucas’s presence.

It was… understandable, the commander supposed. Claus himself had remained relatively unchanged in the past four years (and he only worded it so because Claus had once made it clear that he did not consider himself to be the same person as the commander).

Lucas, on the other hand, had apparently matured from a small follower of a child to a more controlled and powerful and _confident_ boy. To be left behind in any way by the younger sibling was certainly a cause for discontent.

At the moment, though, Claus seemed to be at ease tossing the ball back and forth with his brother. It was one of the things Lucas had not actively tried to improve, and so Claus’s skill still overshadowed his own.

But the blond boy still learned quickly, and the commander could feel Claus’s mild frustration every time Lucas adapted to his throws.

A bit at a loss for what to do, the commander watched. And waited. And took everything in. Being the recessive personality meant very little freedom, but that was just fine. He was used to having no freedom at all.

Claus tossed the ball in such a manner that it curved to the left very slightly. He often did this, more often than not, and Lucas had picked up on it.

The commander paused and considered a moment before clearing his throat.

 _Shift the angle of the toss up a bit, and lean slightly to the right_ , he advised. _He’s adapted to your directional preference already._

The matter-of-fact delivery made Claus halt for a moment as he considered. The commander detected a hint of surprise in the brighter ginger’s emotions.

Then, slowly, very slowly, Claus’s face lit up in a grin, and he offered the mental equivalent of a slap on the back. Confusing, very much so.

_Hey, that’s actually a great idea. Ha, watch me cream Lucas!_

For the next hour and a half the commander took it upon himself to offer more tactical advice – and each time, Claus accepted readily, with a smirk every time. By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, all of them – even the commander himself – were exhausted. But… it was good.

Confusing, most definitely. But joining in did feel pleasant.

In order to experience the oddly positive feeling, he decided, he would contribute again – next time with monopoly, perhaps.

 

* * *

 

 

Claus figured out eventually that the commander rarely slept. It served as a common point between them – he found himself lying awake most days of the week, listening to Lucas breath in the other bed.

It took a while before he even realized the masked man was generally awake, too. The other was just so quiet. Sometimes, _sometimes_ , Claus pondered the masked man, and wondered how in the world anyone could have made someone like _him_ into someone like _that._

 _This is the fifth night you have wasted half your allotted rest hours,_ the masked man muttered – yes, that was totally an almost-accusing undertone in his calm voice.

Claus huffed out a laugh. Mentally, of course, so as not to wake his brother. _Yeah, how would you know that if you weren’t an insomniac, too?_

_I don’t need very much sleep._

_Lucky._

The word had been absently spoken, but the masked man seemed to ponder it, finally letting out a quiet ‘hm.’

_It isn’t a very fortunate thing, actually. I would prefer a means for recharging peacefully, but there is never any need for sleep._

The wording was funny, for some reason – how he said _recharge_ instead of _rest._

 _Wow, buddy, you really are a robot, aren’t you?_ He asked somewhat playfully.

 _Technically only 48% of me is,_ the masked man replied flatly. _If you would care to check your facts._

 

It took a moment for Claus to realize that the human chimera was returning the jest ounce for ounce, and once he did, he whirled in his little mind palace to see if he had heard wrong.

But no – that was the commander’s face all right, _his_ face. Adorned with the smallest, faintest half-smile.

 _Are you feeling okay?_ Claus wondered slowly. Wondered if maybe he’d finally begun to tear at the seams and sink into insanity. It didn’t seem farfetched.

And the masked man surprised him again.

 _No,_ he responded easily, _I have been spending far too much time with you to ever qualify as ‘okay.’_

_Hey!_

But Claus was grinning, and he probably looked strange there in his bed, biting back a triumphant laugh because _the voice in my head is developing a sense of humor!_

Man, he sounded like he had issues. But that was because he totally did.

Lucas shifted in his sleep and murmured something, something about global warming or a stage play or, really, it could have been anything with his muffled, slurred speech. A teasing, fond smile made its way onto Claus’s face.

This dork had ended up saving the world – go figure. Go figure.

The humor suddenly left the situation and the ginger boy sighed.

Lucas was, in all definitions of the word, a hero, and that didn’t want to sit well with Claus. He was, after all, the older twin – _he_ should have been the strongest, _he_ should have been the one to shoulder the burden of the world, _not Lucas._

What was Claus now but the shadow? He could barely do anything. Ironic, that in fighting to be the strongest one, he was left behind.

 _Naturally, you’re mistaken,_ the commander pointed out logically. _If I was, in my own body, many times stronger than he was, and I was a suppressed and mutated version of you, then following the line of reason, you have the capability to become just as strong as, if not stronger, than your brother._

Wow. If there was one thing Claus wasn’t expecting, it was that.

But still. It was good to hear… even if it was technically coming from himself.

Claus sighed and laid back, blinking the sudden sleepiness out of his eyes. His eyes studied his brother’s frame, and he realized, not for the first time, that this was real, he was here. Not falling anymore. Not falling.

 _Yeah_ , he murmured back at the masked man. _But hey, just you wait, ’cause this isn’t even my final form._

After all, maybe his brother deserved to be called the stronger one. But that didn’t necessarily mean Claus had to give up altogether, right?

He smiled, a half-smile reminiscent of the masked man’s. No, he could still give Lucas a run for his money.

 

 


End file.
